


Just Different

by maeples



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Book 03: Oathbringer, Book 03: Oathbringer Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Gift Exchange, M/M, Missing Scene, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 18:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeples/pseuds/maeples
Summary: Part of the Cosmere Gift Exchange, for Jay.In which Renarin and Rlain share more than their silence.





	Just Different

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freoduweard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freoduweard/gifts).

> I hope you like it!! This has been something I've wanted to write for a while

The first time, they share silence. 

Renarin sits down beside him, hesitant and ashamed for it. Though the rock’s surface is even enough to sit on, he can’t push down the urge to fidget and shift his weight. Instead, he runs his fingers over the stone beneath him, catching on bumps and pointy edges, weathered down by ages of Highstorms. Or, more recently, the Everstorm.

_ Oh. I don't know if he counts. _

_ This thing is what everyone always tells him. Over and over again. _

Renarin feels silly for his complaints, as he scuffs the toe of his boot into the dry dirt. Rlain eyes him, askance, and though his expression gives nothing away, Renarin can see the questions in his posture. 

He knows what it’s like to be alienated--from the highlords and royalty, from the Alethi, from _ people _ in general _ . _But he'll never understand how alienating it feels to be the only Listener in the entirety of Bridge Four. The only one in the entire city of Urithiru, for that matter. The only one treated like he’s somewhat human. 

They sit, watching the rest of Bridge Four attempt to take to the sky like their Radiant leader. Their shouting and cheering washes over them, like the rain from a Highstorm, water beating, eroding at walls of the structures they built around them. It doesn’t bother Renarin as much as he worried it would. He finds himself instead glad. They deserve to have their happy moments. But he still finds himself reaching in his pocket for his small box.

He glances back to Rlain, watching their bridgecrew rejoice. No one had come to comfort Rlain when he couldn’t draw in Stormlight. He wonders if he feels envious, as he takes the cube out, beginning to feel the familiar carvings against his fingers. Renarin is surprised to find he is, to some extent, a bit disappointed, while still happy for them, that he isn’t a Windrunner like most of Bridge Four. But he knows that’s mostly on account of him feeling so different once again, and so soon after he began to fit in somewhere.

He doesn’t fit in, not even among Radiants, not even among Bridge Four.

He knows he’s different--an outcast among outcasts--but Rlain is too, and they do, perhaps, share something more than silence.

\---

As it progresses, it's much less spontaneous. Bridge Four walks through the towering structures of Urithiru, and Renarin makes a point to fall into step beside Rlain.

"This is different,” Renarin comments. The tower has so much technology, but no one knows how to use it. According to his Aunt Navani, there’s evidence of farming and bathhouses and other fabrial structures. But so far, they’ve only gotten several of the lifts to work. “They look like something carved from the earth.”

Rlain hums beside him. “The walls?” He pauses. “They are stone,” he says matter-of-factly.

Their footsteps echo across the large, high-ceilinged chamber in a moment of silence. Renarin resists the urge to wring his hands together, or to tap them against his pant leg. 

The air hums silently, with secrets and life, and an unease that Renarin can’t begin to describe. He knows Glys feels it, too. The marbling of Rlain’s skin is backlit from the Light of gemstones behind him. 

“Yes,” Renarin says after a moment, settling on shoving his hand into his pocket, rubbing the fabric of his uniform between his fingers. “But not Soulcast. Like… it was cut--from a mountain.” 

It matters, and it doesn’t matter. Maybe trying to find meaning and reason in the midst of all this is like his mother burning glyphs to a god she viewed as lesser, trying to add significance to their lives. 

The other considers this. “This would take a lot of work, however this was made.” He pauses, looking at the crest of the arched entryway instead of Renarin's face, but his voice is straightforward and steady in the way Renarin can unusually count on it to be. Not that he minds. Renarin finds maintaining eye contact awkward and hard when forced. “Many things are different, now.” 

Renarin enjoys the cadence, a sort of rhythm, in Rlain’s sentences. He can’t quite describe it, but there are differences in the varying tones. He heard of the Parshendi singing while they fought, but he didn’t think that it was necessarily a form of communication that would carry over to other languages. And maybe it doesn’t--not fully--but it’s somewhat there, at least. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It must feel strange.” 

It’s an invitation, one Renarin hopes Rlain might accept, but Renarin also won’t be hurt if he doesn’t. 

“It does,” Rlain says.

And that’s where the words run out. He feels settled. He feels unsettled. He still remembers his vision of a violent storm, a force of destruction and terror, and thinking, even if only for a while, that they might just die. 

\---

Renarin understands the bare basics of the spear. Basic techniques. Basic maneuvers. His use of the spear is like this, too. Basic. And he knows it’s the best he can reasonably expect, as he’s only just begun learning. 

Renarin and the rest of Bridge Four train with their leader to oversee them. They split off into pairs of twos after warming up, and Renarin immediately goes to Rlain. He feels that, if out of any of Bridge Four, he might feel most comfortable around him.

The ground beneath Renarin seems to hum in anticipation, the crunch of dirt under his boot suddenly loud in the unsettled air. A light breeze comes from behind him, messing with his hair as he faces black skin and orange carapace. Renarin thinks, fleetingly, that it suits Rlain. He’s tall--taller than Renarin, Alethi genes and all. 

Rlain makes an intimidating opponent, and Renarin is up for the challenge. For so long, he was sheltered, kept from fighting and training because of how sickly he’d been. Not only was he odd, but he couldn’t do anything for a worthy Calling. He was pressured to join the ardentia, and for some time even considered it, even though the thought alone was enough to make him want to scream. 

But now he can do this, and he isn’t giving up on the chance to pursue it. 

Rlain attacks first, delivering two quick jabs, of which Renarin sidesteps, keeping his footing steady. Rlain brings his spear back, coming up to block any strikes the other might have tried to get in. Glys is somewhere behind him, humming as he observes them and the other bridgemen. Renarin lunges, feinting a high-aimed swipe, trying to get Rlain to give him an opening. But, of course, Rlain knows better, and instead steps back quickly out of range. 

“Try not to let your legs cross. That is a bad habit,” Rlain advises, watching as Renarin corrects his stance. Yes, it was a mistake. A bad one. 

The session is, ultimately, uneventful. Rlain wins most of their matches, though Renarin manages to gain the upper hand a few times. One of which is their last match. 

Rlain steps out of range from probably the best, most controlled strike Renarin has managed all day with a few quick half-steps, only to find the ground behind dips slightly. Rlain wobbles a bit, trying to shift most of his weight onto his other foot in an attempt to regain his balance. Renarin strikes again, feeling a bit underhanded and guilty for it, but manages to topple his friend. 

Rlain nearly falls the whole way backward, arms flailing almost comically, but he catches himself with an ungraceful pivot of his foot, falling to his knees instead. Renarin winces at the sound of the impact. 

“Ah--are you okay?” Renarin asks, hovering nearby, unsure if he should offer more concern or apologize. 

“Yes,” Rlain grunts, setting his hand down to haul himself to his feet. 

Renarin reaches out a hand. “Here. Sorry.”

Rlain glances up at him, and something like a smile crosses his face as he accepts the highprince’s hand. Rlain’s feel warm and firm in his, carapace covering the tops of his fingers. 

“Thank you.”

Renarin gives a slight smile back. 

Rlain, mostly by himself, partially with Renarin’s help, makes it back onto his feet. “That was good. Cheating, but good,” he comments. 

Renarin fully smiles this time. 

Rlain dusts himself off, reaching down for the spear he’d dropped. 

Another difference, yet similarity to Renarin. Both of them were initially denied training with spears by the Alethi. Renarin for different reasons, but somehow they share this, too. 

It makes him smile again, feeling a sort of connection to the bridgeman. Nothing else is said as Rlain stretches, testing his legs. In silence, they both begin to make their way back to where the rest of Bridge Four are finishing up. 

It’s enough. 

\---

It doesn’t take a Truthwatcher to know that something’s off, but it’s still very hard to ignore when Glys begins to comment on it. “That one…” Glys hums, crystalline figure glowing softly. Renarin glances over his shoulder, to the entryway of the Bridge Four barracks.

Of course, something has been wrong for a while now. It was there, even before Renarin began to seek him out. 

“Rlain?” Renarin mumbles softly. His friend in question had retired early, though the rest of Bridge Four still hung around outside, soaking in the last of the dying day. 

“His sorrow is great,” Glys says. 

Renarin glances around. Everyone else is busy, engaged in conversation or their food. Noise. A soft buzzing, always there. He slips the string he’d been messing with into the breast pocket of his uniform, getting up from the rock he’d been seated on. No one seems to mind him, so he makes his way over to the barracks. 

His hand hesitates against the wooden door, but he eventually gives it a gentle push, stepping inside. He lets the door close behind him with a soft groan from its hinges. The only light comes from dimly radiant gemstones, almost dun, on the wall and a few glowing pouches. On one of the bunks, Renarin can barely make out a figure sitting, head bowed, resting in his hands. Though Rlain doesn’t look up, Renarin doesn’t greet him, or clear his throat, or anything else to make himself known other than his entry. Sometimes people just need silence. In the sleeping quarters, the conversations outside are muted, dulled down to a gentle hum.

Renarin steps forward, his boot clicking softly against the wood, and sits down on the opposite end of the cot. 

Silence. 

“You are a Radiant, right?” Rlain asks softly. 

For a moment, Renarin isn’t sure Rlain’s even spoken. It’s more air than syllables, like his lips only half-formed the word before it came out. 

Renarin starts to nod, but realizes Rlain can’t see him with his eyes angled toward his feet. But talking sounds wrong. It feels like interrupting his moment. And because Rlain already knows the answer to his question, Renarin says nothing. 

“Why do you come back, when my people are gone?” Rlain asks.

“The Parshendi?” Renarin asks, trying to speak quietly. 

“The Listeners,” he corrects, lifting his head up, hands coming to rest on his knees. 

He nods. Renarin has never been good with people. Finding the correct, acceptable thing to say was hard enough in small talk, with every how-do-you-do feeling like yet another game among the Alethi, another competition Renarin has somehow been denied access to. 

“I miss them,” Rlain continues. “It is hard enough here. Everyone treats me differently. Like I am… an oddity.” 

An exception. Yes, Renarin saw this. Rlain, the parshman they _ let _ have a spear. The one they _ let _train with them. He saw the way Dalinar’s guards subtly placed themselves between him and Rlain, as if to protect him from potential attack.

“I enjoy Bridge Four,” Rlain says slowly. “But at the same time I want to slap them. They ask all these questions, like it is somehow appropriate. They don’t even know how bad it feels. Then in normal conversation, they don't even talk to me.”

Renarin nods slowly. He’s seen this happen among Bridge Four, too. Asking to feel the ridges on Rlain’s skin, or if he knew something about the Fused, and then in later conversation not asking how Rlain felt about the Kaladin’s decision on patrols.

“Then they think of me like I’m… lucky to be treated with respect,” he continues. He looks up, catching Renarin’s eye. 

“And then, you talk to me. Not just because you feel sorry for me, but because you are… genuine.” 

Renarin blinks. It had seemed so obvious to him. Well, yes, of course he talks to Rlain, because he cares. But then he also realizes that to someone like Rlain, it means a lot. Because to someone like _ Renarin, _it means a lot. To people like them. 

“Yes,” Renarin says, fidgeting. “I mean, you do too…” 

Rlain visibly hesitates, opening his mouth, then pausing. After a beat, he asks, “The other Alethi, do they… do things like these?”

It’s Renarin’s turn to hesitate. “Kind of. Nothing quite on that level, but…” he trails off. More lighthearted conversations were already difficult; how could he begin to pick apart what to say and what to not? 

Rlain doesn’t prompt him, or get annoyed, or turn away and ignore him. He simply looks on, waiting, head lifted slightly. 

“Well,” Renarin begins, “it’s mostly with the other highprinces. It’s usually nothing blatant, but… sometimes they give me looks, or make comments.” 

But not for looking different, or being an entirely different race. For simply… _ being _different. Sadeas had been less guarded with his remarks, but even without them, Renarin knows this. He’s known it since he was a child. 

Rlain hums thoughtfully. “The others of Bridge Four, sometimes they… talk, too. About you being a scholar.” 

Renarin hates how hesitant he is to acknowledge it. Now that he’s finally gained his chance to fight, he still wants to read and write and figure out fabrials like Aunt Navani. Even more than before. 

“They’ll talk no matter what I do, I suppose,” he says. 

“You do happen to have a special breed of oddity,” Rlain replies, and there’s something in his voice that Renarin thinks is like amusement, or--oh. Rlain is _ teasing _him. 

The cot creeks softly as he shifts, bouncing his leg as he thinks. Rlain doesn’t make mindless chatter into the silence, as anyone else would have, trying to coax him into replying while making it more of a struggle for him at the same time. Though he imagines his leg bouncing might be annoying, or seen as disrespectful, Rlain doesn’t make any comments. He doesn’t give any looks, or glare, or roll his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice reaching out in the general stillness that presses around them. “We’re both a bit odd, by everyone else’s standards.” 

Rlain nods, quiet. 

“I suppose we have to remember, sometimes,” Renarin says slowly, choosing his words carefully, “that only we decide who we are.”

They share silence again, sitting in each other’s company until a few other members of Bridge Four begin to come in for the night. 

Rlain is still a bit troubled, Renarin is still feeling strange. They’ve both got their problems, their concerns, and nothing much about either of their situations has changed. But for now, they’re okay. It’s enough. 


End file.
